Though it’s not the most flattering and mind opening daily activity, I humbly confess to read or flirt with one, sometimes two gossip web pages. It’s shameful, childish and utterly... neccessary. Somehow it feels good to read that one celebrity had a nervous break down, ex-miss of something put extra fat in her body (no, I don’t mean she is on the heavier side, but her lips suddenly look as if a bad allergy reaction to strawberries occurred) and a painful split up is on the verge of going public (Brangelina perhaps? Sorry, I still cannot get over the Pitt-Aniston divorce). But how about the real life? Or horror of all horrors if the hot topic is one of us?
Some people could probably make a living out of gossiping. Broadcasting juicy news live makes radio a complete amateur compared to their developed business. Like any other trade it takes years to mature the gossiping talent to the borders of perfection. However, don’t be fooled by the gender and don’t believe stereotypes... “Some people” in my mind are suprisingly men.
The art of keeping a secret or natural shortcomings
Living in a small city has its privileges. Walking distances, windy bicycle rides from the east to the west, knowing one another... The latter can be tricky, though.
I have a friend who by the time of the ongoing incident happened to be a heureuse single lady, living in a no-strings-attached way. Why not, you may ask yourself. The only thing she wanted to do is to get the most out of her fabulous solo life.
Meeting new (not) interesting men was on daily menu. You cannot judge a book by its cover, I suppose, so she didn’t. Although his behavior didn’t speak in his favor (pick up lines obviously worked the way they should), she gave the romance a go. After a few brief encounters the joyride ended. No harm done. For both partners in crime. Until...
Details from between the sheets were clearly presented to the almost whole male population of the city. What’s there to add? The man has simply bad manners. She didn’t go around spreading the word about his equipment, did she? And speaking of it... Us, closer girlfriends, do know a small secret. Hm. Unfortunate wording. I admit, I am getting mean here and because physical shortcomings are not a laughing matter, I’ll rephrase this into a more diplomatic sentence. The man could wear short pants. Really really short pants. Hot pants.
I can’t decide which of the following is more awkward. Being town’s gossip about sleeping around (and words being good at it come right along) or having modest tools. I will allow you to give the final judgement.
The lesson between the lines is hopefully clear. Never kiss and tell. Because you can’t know when and how it will come around. Inevitably and faithfully. As a boomerang. Reading page six gossip is perhaps less dangerous and harmful...